


Who Needs Logic When You Have Rocket Boots?

by elegantwings



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantwings/pseuds/elegantwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony needs something. True to form, he tries to reach it in the least logical way and suffers the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Needs Logic When You Have Rocket Boots?

**Author's Note:**

> So the other day my dad got the bright idea to climb some shelves to get a box instead of using a ladder, and fell and dislocated his fingers. It was all very scary for me for about two hours, because we thought maybe he'd really hurt his hand and messed up his fingers and also hospital visits suck. Thankfully he'll be fine in a couple of weeks. Naturally, I turned my emotional pain into Tony's physical pain. 
> 
> The other thing of note is that I tagged the two pairings because it's really up to your own preference, I think it's vague enough that it doesn't have to be one way or the other.

There are ladders in Stark Tower. There are. There’s even one tucked away in the Penthouse, because without heels Pepper is not the tallest woman in the world, standing eye to eye with Tony. So yeah, Tony can’t reach the highest shelves either, but unlike Pepper he doesn’t use the ladder when he needs it. He’s also got AI’s of various intelligence with considerable reach, hell, there’s even tables of varying height that he could climb if the need arises.

But Tony’s in his lab, and he’s working on something that started out as a tablet and is now shaping up to be a very small tracking device instead. Whatever. It happens.  A lot actually. He’s trying to decide if he could get it back to being a tablet, or maybe making it both? when Jarvis gets his attention.

“Sir? Are you aware of what you’re doing?” and Oh, Tony’s halfway up a shelf, his sneakers clinging to the ledges like he’s rock-climbing or something, because he really needs whatever’s at the top of the shelf. Well, he thought he did, anyway. He can’t even really remember what’s up there, actually, and oh hey, that’s where that watch ended up. He slips it around his wrist so he doesn’t forget it up there again, losing his balance on the shelf for a second. “Perhaps you should consider an alternative way of reaching the top shelf,” Jarvis suggests.

“Jarvis, you’re a genius!” Tony announces, hopping down to the ground again. He’s pretty sure he could actually hear his AI wince just now, which is technically impossible.

There’s probably even a ladder in his workshop somewhere. Probably. Maybe. He doesn’t have a clue where that might be though, so he goes for the next obvious alternative.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Jarvis sighs when Tony steps into a pair of Iron Man prototype boots. They’re more or less working, in any case they should be perfectly fine for a thirty second lift. His bots hover nervously around him, but he waves them away.  

He might not remember what’s in that box, but at this point it’s the principle of the thing. And who knows what other lost stuff might be up there. He could find Natasha’s soul, if he’s really lucky.

What happens next is just proof that no one can even think bad thoughts about Natasha without her finding out. Because, these boots should lift him just fine, they should do what he tells them to like (most) of the things he builds do. But on the way up, pretty close to the top actually (which is pretty high- maybe six feet), a circuit must short or something because one boot fails, and then the next. With much, much less grace than his previous landing, Tony hits the ground.

He wants to say, “I meant to do that!” but it comes out more of a cry of pain because he’s kind of…lying on top of his left hand. Nope, not good. “Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, rolling over and examining his arm, doing a quick mental inventory for more damage. Pepper is going to give him so much hell. “Don’t call Pepper,” he says first, trying to ignore the edge of panic in his own voice.

“Miss Potts is on her way,” Jarvis says.

“Don’t call Bruce?”

“Dr. Banner is also on his way.”

On top of that, Dummy and Butterfingers are crowding him because of course they are. “Fuck,” Tony repeats, which doesn’t do anything for the state of his hand, or the two of his fingers that are bent at angles no fingers should ever bend. Unless they’re alien fingers. It is entirely possible that Tony is going into some kind of minor shock, which is totally ridiculous considering that he has an arc reactor in his chest. Okay, yeah. He has an arc reactor in his chest, because he totally fixed himself that time he had a car battery keeping him alive. He can fix this, too, all he’s got to do is put his fingers back in place and drink enough that he doesn’t remember how much this fucking hurts. Or something. It’s a flawless plan.

“As flawless as your plan to fly to the top shelf?” Jarvis asks him, alerting him that not only is his plan totally stupid, but he’s talking out loud, too.

“Tony, what did you do?!” Pepper’s shouting, and Tony really should have taken his boots off, even if he only has one hand in commission right now. “Oh my god, your hand! Tony, what were you _thinking?_ ” She’s cradling his dirty, swollen hand in between her perfect small ones and it hurts in more ways than Tony can deal with processing at the moment, so he goes with the obvious one.

“Could you-ow, be more careful? Guy with a broken, ow, seriously Pepper, broken hand, here!” he’s shouting at her, which he never means to do. “Just let go, I can fix it, I’m just going to fix it and wrap it up and take some painkillers, no big deal, okay?”

“You need to go to the hospital!” she shouts back, moving to hold him back from standing up and just barely realizing that would mean aggravating his injury further. Suddenly she’s quiet, and deadly serious. “Are you wearing Iron Man boots?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. He really should have tried to take them off. “No?” he tries.

“If you’re both finished,” Bruce says calmly without a hint of either condescension or annoyance, “I’d like to take a look at Tony’s hand.”

“Oh hey Bruce, great timing,” Tony says with faked enthusiasm. “I just fell a little, I broke my own landing, no big deal. I’m fine, seriously. You could take a look, but really, nothing to see.”

“Tony, your hand is purple,” Pepper says a little hysterically, and Bruce just looks at him expectantly.

“Ugh.” Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, nothing to see here,” but he thrusts his arm in Bruce’s direction anyway, barely containing the grunt of pain despite Bruce’s careful touch. The bots flank Pepper, and if Tony had given them faces they’d probably look just as anxious as she does.

“Sorry,” Bruce murmurs, focused on his examination. “It looks like your fingers might just be dislocated, but you might have fractured something in your actual hand.”

“Do we need to go to the hospital, or is it something you can take care of here?” Pepper seems to have calmed down, an aftereffect of the way Bruce took control. An aftereffect of not getting caught in another yelling match with Tony.

“We should be okay here,” Bruce confirms. It’s the little things, Tony thinks.

“Tell me honestly, Doc,” he says, “Will I ever play the piano again?”

“Not that I’m at all qualified to make an assumption like that, I’d say you probably will.” Bruce slips an arm around his waist and starts leading him towards the door.

“You don’t even know how to play the piano,” Pepper reminds him, her heels echoing on the floor as she follows them. It is totally unfair that she always has perfect balance in those things.

“Maybe I want to learn,” Tony starts, but one of his boots sparks and discussion of his hypothetical career as a pianist is derailed for a probably useless lecture about workshop safety from two people who know him well enough to know better than to think it’ll stick.

Bandaged and on painkillers, Tony’s locked out of his workshop for at least the next twenty-four hours (he and Bruce are bargaining over the terms that let him in before he’s fully healed). He’s sprawled out on a couch, his good arm thrown over his eyes while he waits for the floaty numbness that’s not caused by malnutrition or caffeine overdose to kick in. He’s drifting asleep, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining Bruce and Pepper whispering to each other, or the soft thunk of metal hitting the floor a few feet away.

He doesn’t much feel like opening his eyes to see what’s going on, but someone (feels like Bruce) is petting his hair and they’re both saying his name and he’s already upset them enough for one day, probably. It’s a drug and injury induced sense of maturity. It might actually last.

They’ve put a ladder in the middle of the living room with a big red bow on it. Any feelings of contrition are completely erased, even more so because they’re totally laughing at his expense. It’s quiet laughter, though, really they’re just kind of smiling at him. If this is payback for his stupidity, well, it’s probably better than he deserves. “Ha, ha, you’re both so funny,” he says, a little hoarse with sleepiness and the meds.

“I’m still mad,” Pepper informs him, taking off her shoes. He lifts up his legs so she can sit underneath them.

“I’m always mad,” Bruce jokes but not really, waiting for Pepper to get settled before he sits on the other end of the couch and lets Tony put his head in his lap. He resumes the hair-petting while Pepper flips through the DVR. Tony kind of can’t see around the ladder, but maybe that’s part of the point, and he’s tired anyway.

He still can’t remember what he wanted from that damn shelf. 


End file.
